A Real Boyfriend Will Help Move The Bodies
by Measured
Summary: Post Expiration Date. Burying bodies sure is a lot more fun with company. Scout/Miss Pauling


Title: A Real Boyfriend Will Help Move The Bodies  
Series: TF2  
Character/Pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Post Expiration Date. Burying bodies sure is a lot more fun with company.  
Author's Note: cottoncandybingo: it's okay.  
The French is intentionally spelled wrong, because Scout likes bastardizing French. As you can guess from the title and summary, it's got canon-typical violence. Title comes from the old adage "A friend will help you move. A Real friend will help you move the bodies."

Here you go, Hazmad. Sorry it took me so long.

**.**

Bodies didn't exactly keep well with New Mexico heat. They'd turn bloated and start to smell before the day was done, which meant Miss Pauling had to work fast. He honestly didn't know how she did it. It wasn't like she was a giant manbear like Heavy.

Scout learned to have a strong stomach pretty quick. Or at least, how to hide it better. The guys had seen to that, what with hiding surprise body parts in his bedding, attaching to his shower head, waking up to a severed head sleeping beside him and covered in lipstick, hands smeared across his pin ups in a way which could only be the horrific pranking lovechild between Medic and Soldier.

Scout lifted the tarp. The guy was pretty messed up, a big chest wound, and bullets and charred flesh where his face used to be, and sharpie marks on his hands where they were presumably going to be cut off. With a glance to the side, Scout pushed his fingers into the wound and smeared it across his face in a blood goatee. He even went and drew a little heart on his cheek, because who said romance was dead?

"_Charie_," he said in his worst French accent he could manage.

"Scout, you—"

Her scolding broke off into a laugh. She covered her mouth, only to draw back, covering her mouth with her hand. "Ugh, I got gunshot residue on my face."

"It's hot, gotta love a girl with gunpowder in her hair," Scout said.

"Fffft, you _would _ say that," she said. "But you got blood all over your date clothes."

"Goes great with the Evil Mutant Bread goo," he said.

"_Charrie," _ he said again, just to hear her laugh, to see her go straight from serious to all that professionalism breaking down.

"Okay, no kisses until you aren't covered in blood all over your face. I've got super-strength wipes in the car. They even get blood out of clothes, and are great for getting brain matter out of your hair."

"You'd know," he said, amused and proud as hell as he reached in. He found the wipes and quickly washed off the blood out of his face and hair.

"I'm reasonably clean and no longer French anymore! Look, _no stink lines_," Scout said. He struck a pose, just so she could admire him.

"Good," she said. She started to drag the body towards the cave.

"Hey, lemme help with that!"

He grabbed one of the arms of the unlucky bastard she'd had to off, and started dragging him as well. The ground was hard packed sand and rocks, with a trail of new blood. He kind of wondered if that was part of the job as well, or if they'd just let the rain clear it away.

"Oh, damn. I forgot. Get the belt sander, would you? And the quicklime."

"Yeah, sure," he said.

The quicklime was damn heavy, but he wasn't about to let her know that. He threw it over his shoulder, grabbed the belt sander with his other hand, and staggered in.

"It's pretty heavy, huh?" she said.

"I barely even feel it. It's like air," Scout said. He let out a sigh of relief as he ditched the bag near the wall. He tried to lean back in the most inconspicuous manner. Lucky for him, she'd already set to work.

"Yech. This sure is one dingy, dark, cavey cave," Scout said. And some more sandy, rocky dirt, with some horrible cacti spines which rest assured Iwould/I get in everyone's boots, and be a pain in the ass to get out.

Fuck New Mexico, give him some docks any day. He smiled at that, lost in the thought of taking Miss Pauling out to see the lights at twilight on the harbor. Now he'd pick a classy part of town, the kind of place he'd usually get run out of. With her there, they wouldn't even try and throw him out. Nobody would ever turn a girl like her out. And if they did, they'd be introduced to his fist.

Everything was drowned out by the bone chipping whiz, the spatter of blood, and the disgusting squishing of flesh being cut through The guy had been dead for less time than he'd guessed; he probably was still warm.

He had to hand it to her: she had a stronger stomach than all the other mercenaries combined.

"Oh, damn," she said. She'd cut a little too far and lopped off his arm.

He held up an arm and put it to his head, like half an antenna. "Classy secretary girl, take me to your leader," he said in his best little green man voice.

He'd made his way through school by being the class clown, and now he figured if he made enough stupid jokes, then he'd keep talking to her and stop looking like a stammering jackass. And it was working. Each time he'd get a little smile, a small laugh.

Truth was, she was pretty cute all spattered in blood. And it sure was feeling like a date, despite everything.

"Can we at least go get a meal together? They _do _ let you eat, right?" Scout said.

"You really want to eat after seeing all this?" Miss Pauling said.

"Eh, you get used to it. If I had to hurl every time I ran into blood and guts, I wouldn't be able to do my job. And then the world would be deprived of me battin' in skulls like a real champion. Major league battin'," he said.

She attempted to clean off her glasses, only to find her skirt was too splattered with blood. "Well, this is more than I can wipe off. I'll need to take a shower, but yes, they do allow me to eat everyone once in a while," she said.

"Fried chicken it is?" Scout said.

"Make it to go," Miss Pauling said.


End file.
